Wind Warrior
by ShadyFalcon
Summary: What does it profit a man to gain the world, but lose his whole soul?


The wind played with his hair, as it always did in Silesse's mountain roads, but for once it didn't bother Lewyn at all. It was his own belongings that made him uncomfortable. The small pack slung over his shoulder felt binding, and his clothes, no, his entire body seemed like a weighty husk that he needed to shed off. He shifted in his seat and continued staring out the carriage, unreadable aside from a twinge of the mouth.

"This is far enough."

He stepped out of the carriage and pushed a handful of gold coins into the driver's palm. He stared in amazement. "Milord… I hardly need something like this. Please, keep some for your travels…"

"I don't need coin where I'm going," he said dismissively, already turning away as he adjusted his headscarf. "Get your kids something nice."

He raised a hand in parting, and with that he was off, trotting down the hillside. The breeze turned his skin ash white and his breath came out in milky clouds, but he was comfortable with it. He'd grown up hating this country's cold weather, but now it felt more like home than ever.

He could feel the coachman's eyes following him from the distance. He would watch, wringing his hands, until he was only a speck on the skyline. Everyone in this country behaved like that, acting as surrogate parents or stewards for him at every opportunity. Lewyn grimaced.

' _I hate them.'_

Suddenly, his face relaxed and his mind went blank. He blinked rapidly, trying to form a thought, but he seemed suddenly devoid of them. Only one came to him, out of nowhere:

' _Poor ungodly souls…'_

* * *

"Mm… Lewyn…" Erinys murmured in her sleep. Usually he found it cute; tonight, it bothered him intensely. He slid out of bed and walked towards the balcony, rubbing his eyes.

He looked out over the landscape, green and dripping with melting icicles. Some plains on the horizon remained pillowy with snow, and the peaks in the distance were all shocking white. It would come down again tomorrow, in flakes and billowing sleet.

"Snow, snow…" he groused to himself. "This whole country is nothing but a damned pile of it…"

"I like it, you know." He turned his head to Erinys striding up beside him, drowsy, but her voice as gentle yet alert as ever. "Snow is so peaceful. It makes everything so beautiful… and so pure."

She stopped, leaning up against the railing beside him, and looped her arm with his. "Don't you remember when we played war as kids? The snowball fights?" She giggled. "Mahnya would always win… you would get so red and shout 'She cheated! She cheated!' You hated to lose…"

She paused. "You still hate to lose."

"I don't remember that," he said blankly, not meeting her gaze. His eyes stayed fixed on the distance, and Erinys frowned.

"You forget about a lot of things lately. It seems as if you forget that you even live here."

He shook his head. "Don't say things like that…"

"I'm only saying what I see," she whispered, and Lewyn sensed the hurt in her voice. But her feelings seemed like a problem much too big and much too far away for him to solve. Even just apologizing may as well have been a quest to slay a dragon.

"There's some things I can't share with you, Erin," he mumbled. "I just have to do them alone. Running a kingdom is, uh… it's a big task. And it involves a lot of—"

"I know you were not on some 'diplomatic mission' this month, so don't give me that." He finally turned to face her, and she looked even more hostile than she sounded. "You're not invisible. Farmers would see you. Just wandering their fields in a cheap cloak. Walking through the wheat rows. Talking to yourself. Talking to _cows_. And we hear these crazy reports from the villages, about you living like some vagrant out in gods-know-where, while our son comes to me every night and asks 'When's Papa coming home? Where's Papa? I want Papa—'"

He raised a hand sharply, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. Erinys stopped dead in her tracks, and he heard her quiver. Somehow, he'd made her stop without speaking. Barely even a conscious thought. He opened his eyes and she was shaking.

"Who _are_ you?" Tears dripped down her cheeks intermittently. "Why are you doing this? I don't—if you would at least explain, maybe I could deal with it…"

"I can't explain," he said softly. He paused for a long moment while she sobbed. "I'm sorry." It had been just as difficult to say as he'd thought. The energy was gone from him to say anything else.

They went back to bed. He held her. His arms barely grazed her skin. He knew this was the last night he would sleep next to someone.

* * *

He knew the mountains well, far better than he should have. He weaved an easy path through them so that it was almost like walking a normal dirt road, with a few rises and falls along the way.

He felt so peaceful here. No one was watching him, he had no attendants, no soldiers, no family to answer to. Only him, and the counsel of his mind.

' _Walk to Grannvale… if your feet get tired, the wind will carry you there… walk, or fly, and there you will meet destiny…'_

He could no longer remember when he started hearing those words, on endless repeat in his head, but he felt as if they weren't present when he was in Sigurd's army. He felt, vaguely. Those memories were covered in haze.

' _What kind of person was Lewyn? What did he like to do? I only know what others say.'_

He blinked rapidly, as he had gotten in the habit of doing. It was a defense mechanism, when he was losing his sense of self. He had to hold onto himself, no matter what… _'I am Forseti, warrior of the—'_

He stopped and inhaled. Cold sweat dripped down his neck. _'I am Lewyn. Lewyn. King of Silesse. I have… a child? Children. With Erinys. I fought great battles—or one great battle. Lewyn. My name is Lewyn…'_

He noticed the snowflakes filling his field of vision. They fell all around, thick and dry, but each flake passed over his body as if a thin shield covered it. Not one stuck to him.

He walked and went on repeating everything he knew. Every day he lost something, every day there was less to repeat.

* * *

Fire towered around him, transforming the ruined courtyard into an oven and pumping smoke into his lungs. He was on his knees, clutching his stomach, screaming quietly in pain. Even if he wailed with all his might, no one would hear him. He was alone, with someone's charred skull touching his idle hand. The flames flickered upward, taller, and taller still…

"I can't die… I can't die… I can't die…" He coughed, retching partway through, and collapsed to the ground completely. "Erin… Erin…"

The tome Forseti had fallen to the ground in front of him, tattered and close to falling apart. He couldn't tell if it was the fire or his reliance on it in the battle before that had made it like this, but it didn't matter anymore. Soon, they would both be destroyed. The last two hopes of his mother, engulfed in Valflame…

His eyes were closing when he saw it glow green, hideously bright even amidst the fire. He was too tired to register shock anymore… so tired, too tired to breathe… now he had to rest…

An intense gust erupted, and in a flash, Lewyn and the book disappeared. The flames dispersed instantly from the spot of ground they had lain in.

* * *

He awoke with a gasp, clutching his heart. He chattered, not with the cold but with his fear, and drew his arms around him, sitting up. He had slept in an abandoned barn, head resting on a soft haystack, but now it felt as if the walls would cave in on him. He walked out, briskly at first but then breaking into a sprint.

He continued out to the pasture, past there and then through the fallow fields, blanketed serenely in snow. He couldn't guess how long it had been since a farmer had attended to them. Sadness came over him, the most sincere sadness he'd felt in months. This land had already died.

' _Ah, humans… fickle young creatures…'_

For the first time, he didn't fight such a thought. He didn't feel particularly human anymore, so it made no sense to identify with them. Now he was an observer. Now, he went where the wind told him to go.

' _Grannvale, Grannvale… my destiny awaits…'_

* * *

Lewyn laid against his knapsack, clutching a cup of ale, though he knew he was in no mood to drink. The mood around base camp was somber: those who weren't sleeping were praying, and those who weren't doing either laid around lazily with him. Chulainn sat across from him, tossing pebbles into the lake.

"You seem real easy-going," Chulainn spoke up suddenly, though he didn't turn to look at Lewyn, "considering… you know. What happened."

He paused, flicked his wrist toward the water, watched the stone skip along the surface. "That lady knight seemed… real nice." He sniffled.

Lewyn wasn't sure if he was trying to be nice. He tried to take it that way. "…She died with honor. I don't care about that crap, but she did. So… it's OK with me."

They sat together in silence. Chulainn now held a pebble thoughtfully. He studied it in his palm and turned it over, taking in every single facet.

"Heh! That sounds like somethin' I would say, not you." He got up and walked towards his tent, placing a hand on Lewyn's head as he passed. It somehow felt comforting, not condescending. "Get some rest."

Lewyn sat up slightly. He stared out at the lakefront, taking in its stillness, only the barest of ripples still present from Chulainn's throws. He had swam in it too many times to count when he was a boy. Erinys and Mahnya would accompany him, sometimes…

' _Mahnya loved to swim.'_

He held up his glass and threw it aside, the beer spilling into the snow. He got to his feet, dusting off his trousers, and retreated into his tent. The book his mother had given him just hours before sat on his pillow. The pages were a dim gold, reeking with age, and the cover glowed softly in the darkness.

"Forseti…" he whispered. He picked it up and felt as if the god had cupped his cheek.

* * *

How long Lewyn had stayed wandering the mountain woods, he didn't know, but it was only now that he finally felt compelled to leave. He moved almost involuntarily to the lakeshore, feeling the vague warmth of the sun filling him. The horizon was clear, though ice floes still bobbed in the water. He smiled looking at it.

' _If my feet get tired, the wind will carry me… walk… or fly…'_

He relaxed his body instinctively, letting it recline onto the thin air. He floated above the ground, rising slowly, until he was far above the lake, moving forward and passing more water still, until the freezing-cold Silessian ocean was in sight… where he was meant to stop, he had no idea….

' _My fear is gone,'_ he meditated. _'Only my purpose is left… a purpose only for me, and this beautiful body… my name is Forseti…'_

* * *

He had left home months ago. Now he was no prince anymore, and he went where he liked, relying on the kindness of a stranger, or the repayment of a family for doing household tasks. Sometimes a village offered free room and board if he scared off bandits. It was what he had dreamed of, the life of an errant mage knight.

' _Now I'm where I belong… not in that decadent court. Not with those quarreling pigs that call themselves Lords. Not in that freezing hell of a country…'_

A gust of wind flapped through the carriage window, ruffling his wavy mane of hair and his headscarf. He shuddered and readjusted both, reclining back in his seat.

"What's your deal with the wind, pal?" Silvia piped up, putting her head on his shoulder and staring in his eyes. "Every time it hits ya like that, ya get all weird! …Or are ya just prissy about your outfit?"

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat as she giggled. "Shuddup! It was just cold-feeling is all!"

He looked out the window, watching the rolling dirt road beneath them, and heard the gusts impact against the carriage frame. He closed his eyes and dreamed it wasn't there.

* * *

The sun of Grannvale was unlike the sun of Silesse. It shone down unashamedly, without being filtered through that veil of freezing mist. Still, Lewyn felt unaffected, no different in this country than he had in that one.

' _Nations are all just little plots of land,'_ he thought, striding by the seashore. _'Yet to these people, they seem to be all that matter.'_

A burly, thickly bearded man spotted him from down the beach. He approached carefully, scowling as he hobbled along.

"Just who do you think you are, pal? This is fishin' season!" He looked him up and down with a curious sneer. "You don't look too familiar… how the hell'd you get here?! No boats should be comin' through!"

"Where am I?"

The man's mouth gaped in surprise, but Lewyn had asked the question so calmly, so self-assuredly, that he could only answer it. "I… uhh… Belhalla. Well, the borderlands. Right near Velthomer."

Lewyn went walking off to the village on the horizon immediately. Once again, the man was briefly stunned by his sense of purpose, but soon began shouting after him anyway.

"Hey! HEYYYY! Who are you?! COME BACK HERE!"

A cool, quick current blustered up behind him, and he yelped as his coat flew up. It traveled far past him and met Lewyn's back, pushing him along as he climbed up the rocky edge of the beach. Sand billowed around his feet.

' _When I can't walk anymore, the wind will carry me…'_

* * *

Lewyn cowered in the corner, the beginners' Wind tome abandoned in the doorway. He heard his mother approach, pick up the book, and stand there solemnly, waiting and watching him for minutes. He hated the feeling of being watched and waited on, like he owed her something. He had an intense urge to disappear.

"Lewyn," Queen Rahna called, gentle as a breeze. "Please come here."

"I'm not gonna do it," he answered. His voice was cracked, but remained stubborn.

"Do what?" She moved closer, until she was only a few steps away. He pushed himself even further into the corner, the dank smell of the cellar filling his nose. "Did something go wrong with your lesson? Your teachers say you have an amazing grasp of the magic. Today was only history… they said they showed you the holy tome Forseti, and—"

"They showed me that—that thing!" he shrieked, bolting to his feet and facing her. His eyes were red, his cheeks shining wet. "That thing in the throne room! On that pedestal… e-everything got cold, and w-windy… and I…" He gulped. "It… it said to me…"

Rahna was kneeling in front of him now, one hand stroking his hair, the other resting on his shoulder. Her eyes gleamed with sympathy.

"What did it say, honey?"

"DUTY! DO MY DUTY!" He sobbed openly, hands covering his face. "I can't do it! I CAN'T DO WHAT THAT THING WANTS! DON'T MAKE ME!"

She took him in her arms, and he went on sobbing, crying on her shoulder, waiting for words of comfort. He felt her own tears falling on him, but she said nothing at all.

* * *

The war was over. Lewyn watched while departure after departure went by. Seliph saw countless allies off, some with tears, some with laughter, but all with a strong embrace and sadness at the parting. Seliph was a general who was not respected, but loved by his followers. Lewyn hadn't seen such a breed in all his travels.

Through each battle, they had been together. Always doing whatever he could to insure his success, as an advisor, a guide, a friend. He knew that had been his purpose all along. And seeing the fruits of his labor; the freedom of the continent, at last; he was at peace.

Ced approached. He met his son's eyes, and Lewyn saw the pain in them, mingled with begrudging respect.

"Father, I know you've dedicated your life to Lord Seliph, but now it's our time to—!"

"Silesse is yours now," he said softly. "I'm not going back."

Ced's mouth fell open at the words. "I—what?! You have to come back! It's your birthright! It's your homeland! I won't leave until you—!"

Lewyn held a hand up. Ced fell quiet instantly. "Stop. You're embarrassing us both." He exhaled, a long and deep breath. "You know precisely why I'm doing this. In fact, I think you know better than anyone."

Ced stared at him in defeat. He seemed to want to speak, and tears seemed ready to well up in his eyes, but neither came. He stood devoid and alone.

"Go!" Lewyn roared. "I leave my country's fate to you!"

No more words were spoken. Ced turned his back and strode out of the throne room. Lewyn watched him leave, strangely regretful. He had not thought about the boy since he left Silesse, and it was only now the idea that he had failed him occurred to him. His daughter had not even spoken to him before leaving Belhalla.

Seliph was at his side now. No one could know how he felt, but Lewyn imagined that he could make the best guess. They were alone now, and he placed a hand softly on Seliph's shoulder.

"It's time for me to go," Lewyn said sagely, gathering his scarf. "I have my own journey to fulfill."

"Lewyn…" Seliph paused and smiled. "What you've done can't be repaid. I'm sure Ced understands that too, in his heart. You guided us from the very beginning..."

He clasped one of Lewyn's hands with his own. "Thank you, from the bottom of our hearts."

Lewyn drew back. He tried to smile in return, but his face refused to change. "All I did was my duty. When I fell in battle here years ago… fate had already selected my path. The wind that was sent to guide you."

Seliph peered into his eyes, seeming to take in their emptiness, their detachment, yet also their resolution… for a moment, Lewyn felt him looking into his mind. He flinched.

"I understand," he whispered. "All my life, I've heard the tales of the gods, how they looked down on us and condemned us for our evil… our hatred…"

Lewyn turned away, flipping his scarf upward to cover his head, as he had years ago.

"But you were different. Weren't you?"

Lewyn stopped in his tracks, genuinely surprised. He turned back around to face Seliph, slowly. Seliph's face was shining, either with tears or with deep insight.

"For guiding us when no one else would… as long as we live, we'll never forget your kindness." He knelt in respect. "Lewyn… no… the hero of a distant world… Forseti, the wind warrior…"

Lewyn stood facing him for a moment, and then turned and walked away. Seliph remained kneeling, staring diligently at the floor, as his mentor's footsteps grew quieter and quieter, before their sound disappeared completely.

A gentle gust began blowing, and the white scarf rolled toward his feet. Seliph picked it up, drew it to his face and cried.


End file.
